


Gun Fondling

by Trepan (Mnemosurgeon)



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Gunplay, M/M, Risk Aware Consensual Kink, Shameless Smut, Sticky Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-09
Updated: 2014-12-09
Packaged: 2018-02-28 18:18:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2742341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mnemosurgeon/pseuds/Trepan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maybe, just maybe, Perceptor was a little too fond of the sentient rifle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gun Fondling

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cyc](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Cyc).



> One of several one-shots planned as gifts for friends.  
> This is the first out of the series. 
> 
> It is also important to point out that these are based off on interactions which have transpired in roleplay scenarios prior.

**P** erceptor could not say that his opinion concerning the Decepticons had shifted in the slightest since that fateful meeting.  No, he still had no positive input to give in regards to their cause, affiliation or behaviour.  That remained unchanged, although on the bright side his opinion of them hadn't worsened either.  Vos had been unexpectedly well-behaved around the fellow mech of science, and particularly eager to coax him further into his passion.  It couldn’t have been any more fitting that a bot whose alt mode was perhaps the most superb rifle he’d held in his hands would continue to urge him on, encourage him with their training sessions which were maintained under strict reserve.  The last either of them needed was to be scrutinised over their (perhaps) poor choices.  Yes, he was fully aware that this was a member of the Decepticon Justice Division, feared amongst cons and bots alike.  Yes, he was also aware Vos might as well be one of the most unpredictable members of the aforementioned group.  

But just a few rounds with the rifle in his skilled hands had caused him to become enamoured with the its precision and professionalism.  To most, their new found relationship may seem lacklustre.  Whenever they met it only seemed like a training session, with nothing beyond using and being used.  However to them, it was far deeper and more complex than such a transparent reason.  Perceptor had found in Vos someone who was more than eager to assist him in honing his skill, someone he could confide in even if only during their brief encounters.  Vos, on the other hand, had finally met someone who was capable of wielding him without causing him to feel even an ounce of revolt, and for whom he would honestly abandon every single shred of doubt.  Several hands had held him, though with Perceptor the motion was natural.  As if they had been meant to work together as a unit, in spite of the fact that their factions completely differed from each other.

 

“I said it once and I will say it again: Your alt mode is absolutely lovely.”

 

Propped upon the pocket of the sniper’s shoulder pad, the smaller mech could feel that now familiar voice against himself.  Even if they never shot at sentient targets (something which greatly disappointed Vos), each clean shot caused them both to feel great satisfaction from their little escapades.  Digits squeezed the pistol grip, index trailing along the trigger briefly before firing another round into their makeshift practice targets.  The tension each those pulls ignited was palpable, yet entirely appropriate for the matter at hand.  And soon the sniper had come to realise that holding a Cybertronian in his hands was far more satisfying than he’d initially expected.  The sensation, which had been alien to him during their first sessions together, was now something so familiar that he would become somewhat anxious whenever their time together were to be reduced.  

 

_Be it due to Vos’ duties, or his own_.

 

Several rounds were fired, the sound of metal piercing against metal like music to his audials as he shifted into a more comfortable position.  Perceptor’s digits trailed along the barrel of the gun, coming to rest against the lower receiver.  Digit rubbed slowly against the smooth surface, optics examining the polished metal for a long time.  Lately he’d noticed he had been getting a lot more confident with the rifle, and it was the fact that his touches were prolonged and gentle, as if he’d been holding a lover rather than a fellow professional.  Vos had never complained thus far, although the sniper had been able to feel certain vibrations whenever their meetings converged in an almost intimate act.  And he simply could not help himself.  Every detail of Vos’ design, although Decepticon in nature, had something about it that he couldn’t quite pinpoint.  Coupled with the more pliant side of the division member he’d come to discover over time, the scientist found himself unable to hold back some semblance of attraction.  It certainly wasn’t love, and he knew Vos would mock him for such feelings if it were the case.  Their relationship, though purely professional, sometimes delved into something akin to—

 

_What was it_?

 

Well that was hardly his concern now, was it? Digits trailed along the rifle’s lower receiver as he leaned forward some, allowing himself to take in every inch of that magnificent weapon and revel in its detail.  That was a Cybertronian, and he was reminded of the fact by the slight vibrations he could feel along the heated frame.  Ever so slowly, digits slid upwards once again as he teased the tip of the barrel with small, playful strokes.  The rifle’s recoil pad pressed against the scientist’s interface panel, which was a slightly suspect move.  Perceptor would always claim it was for stability when it happened.  _Of course, Vos knew better than that_.  He wasn’t particularly keen on stopping him either, allowing the sniper to indulge in his innermost fantasies.  After some time, Perceptor himself had come to understand that he need not justify himself in front of the division member.  And since then he’d become unexpectedly shameless when it came to showing his _particular_ fondness for him.

The rifle certainly enjoyed that.  Seeing the otherwise composed mech come undone by a gun in his hands, prey to the desires he could not express elsewhere without concerning himself whether he would be judged for it.  He was willing to provide much needed relief, because wether he liked it or not he’d somewhat adjusted to the idea that he was indeed a tool.

A servo held the rifle against his frame as Perceptor continued handling the barrel in that sensual manner which sent shivers through his entire form.  Needless to say, the vibrations certainly didn’t ease the sniper’s urgency.  A click and the sound of metal sliding away soon followed a sudden grind, particularly dragged out between pad and receiver.  So hot it was almost _searing_ , the sudden wetness never ceased to startle Vos.  And in all honesty, while he suspected Perceptor’s kinks were certainly particular, finding someone who would indulge in his frame in such manner had been something not even he had been anticipating.  He who indulged in his fellow division members from time to time, all of whom had very different quirks in the berth.  Whenever this happened, the first thing that came to the rifle’s mind was _just how far will he indulge himself this time_?

The feeling of the rifle’s relief against the folds of his valve was terribly stimulating.  It always had been, no matter how often he denied it to himself.  Admittedly, the scientist had been hesitating for quite some time before allowing himself to take that sort of risk.  This was a member of the Decepticon Justice Division, and he was a cautious mech after all.  And yet the longer he’d spent without taking a step forward, the more he mentally reproached himself for not having engaged in this sooner.  Whatever had held him back? The first time it happened Vos had been surprisingly accommodating.  He didn’t question the other’s actions, despite even in his alt form the sniper could tell that he was oh so curious regarding the suddenness of it all.  But he never once made a snide remark, or turned him away in spite he could have very well refused him.  If anything, the rifle demanded a thorough cleaning after the deed, and Perceptor could hardly blame him.

 

_Transfluid could be quite troublesome to clean, after all._

 

Dermas parted just a hint as he continued the motions, pushing hips down just hard enough so he could feel every little bump, every grove against burning ache.  Fluid dripped onto the floor, and the scientist fought back the most unbefitting noises as his valve clamped down on nothing.  This used to be enough, didn’t it? Much like an addiction, he’d developed tolerance.  Biting his lower derma a hint, Perceptor understood that this would be terribly problematic.  Digit slid inside the tip of the barrel, swirling about a hint and causing the vibrations to intensify.  The heat irradiating from the rifle was almost palpable by then.  Vos was feeling his urgency, and the harder he bucked his hips against the recoil he understood that it would not be enough this time.  Glossa trailed over his upper derma briefly, mind suddenly toying with an idea he had been exploring since some time ago.  Primus it was so utterly depraved, considering the rifle he was debauching was a sentient being.  A Cybertronian like himself, in spite of their differing factions.  And still all he could do was inhale sharply through his vents, cooling fans whirring to life when he realised just how much he needed something inside himself.  **_Anything_**.

Metal sliding against metal as he lowered the rifle some, optic ridges furrowing as he eyed the length of that hard, heated barrel.  And decided **that** would _definitely_ help quell his the overwhelming need he was feeling.

Frame slid down so he rested on his knees, thoughts muddled by arousal as he pressed the tip of the barrel against his swollen valve— And pushed it in.  He exhaled a breathless whine of delight as the girth spread his folds, unexpectedly thick as his hands continued their delicate task.  He had to trust that Vos would not decide to seize this opportunity to terminate him, and instead would allow him to carry out just another of his little fantasies.  One kept under wraps due to it’s particularly unconventional nature.  Inch by inch, he’d allowed the barrel to stretch him to the point he felt he could handle it, relishing in the feeling of fullness which briefly overwhelmed his sensors.  Derma quivered for a second, a hand grasping at the lower receiver while the other came to rest upon the handle.  He pulled, the barrel sliding out of his dripping orifice before Perceptor exhaled— And pushed inside again.  Choking back a whimper at the alien sensation, hips trembled in place as he attempted to adjust to the feeling.  Digits tightened their grip upon the other mech as he repeated the motion, femorals tightening up almost instinctively at the intrusion.

 

He wanted _more_.

 

Leaning his weight forward, the rifle’s recoil pad pressed against the floor behind him as he continued the motions, frame bent at an odd angle he didn’t seem to be particularly concerned about.  Servos and hips worked together, motions to and fro causing the rifle to sink in deeper inside with each thrust as he forced himself to tone down his moans at the feeling.  He was being filled, over and over, by a con’s exquisite alt mode and he just couldn’t find the means to give a damn at how preposterous that entire sentence sounded in his module.  Hand scrabbled for the safety switch, which he found was jammed.  Most certainly by that rifle he was swaying upon.  “… _Vos_!” It wouldn’t budge, and he understood that he was at the con’s mercy this time.  Yet somehow he couldn’t find it in himself to stop, even as his conscience seemed to demand him to do so.  For his integrity, due to the fact that he was risking his life for self-pleasuring purposes—

But it felt so good.  He couldn’t even consider stopping now that he’d come this far, and the risk only made the entire situation all the more arousing.  How many rounds had they fired? Had Vos discharged them all before Perceptor had decided this was the perfect time to engage in this kind of intimate contact with the con?  And did it _really_ matter?

 

“Nnn—!”

 

Optics were half lidded as the sniper continued with his frantic rocking, making sure that he was pushing the barrel as deep as it could possibly go.  Mandible slackened, fans whirring furiously at every push and shove which only seemed to further strain his frame.  He didn’t want to cool down, and it seemed impossible to even consider something like that each time the length was pushed inside once again.  Back arched, hips grinding down each time he was filled as that sopping wet valve seemed to clamp down around the barrel, almost hungrily.  Index traced the trigger, pushing ever so slightly and finding some resistance much to his surprise.  Was the smaller mech concerned for his safety?  Perceptor was snapped out of his thoughts by a particularly hard push, jerking in delight as his nodes were roughly stimulated by the scorching metal buried deep within that eager valve of his.

Of course Perceptor paid no mind to the sudden noise which reached his audials, similar to clatters and whirrs.  Though all it took to snap him back to attention were the sudden feeling of emptiness which caused something akin to a whimper escape his dermas.  And digits digging against those femorals, squeezing them briefly before his complaint was cut off.  Vos had probably become bored with the passive role he’d been assigned, deciding he would much rather have a hands-on approach into aiding his handler with that predicament.  And so, he’d returned to his regular form, causing the other’s dripping valve to wind up pressed directly against those dermas.  Perceptor’s mind blanked for a moment, brought back by the rifle’s glossa trailing over the slick surface.  Hips bucked against that mouth, attempting to make up for the loss of stimulation.  Perhaps for a moment the scientist had felt a pang of guilt for having been selfish, though Vos’ keen glossa had soon caused those thoughts to vanish somewhere in the back of his helm.  It mattered little now, the sensation those motions gave was certainly something else.

 

“..!” 

 

He wanted to speak, to say something to the smaller mech.  However intent was cut short with every rough lick, tip of the division member’s glossa prompting even further response from his wielder.  Frame leaned forward once again as he pushed hips down against that welcoming mouth, exhaling moans of pleasure as Vos complied with the other’s need.  Tracing itself along the folds, the slick appendage pushed up against one of the sensitive nodes.  He could taste the transfluid of the taller mech, and pushed himself further against that sensitive area.  It was no secret that the sadist was a glutton for affection of any kind, after all.  And Perceptor may as well be one of the few fortunate Autobots who had remained in Vos’ good graces for so long.  There was no love in what they had, certainly not.  Although cataloguing their relationship as a companionship would be far more accurate.

 

“ ** _Vos_**!”

 

So he’d finally found his voice again, although riddled with static as he exhaled a particularly long moan, hands scrabbled for purchase against the floor.  For a moment, Perceptor saw white as he threw his helm back at the overwhelming pleasure spreading through his circuitry like wildfire.  An overload wracked his frame as palms pressed flat on the surface beneath Vos, vents heaving while those hips continued to ride it out, attempting to diminish the crackling sound still ringing through his audials.  This experience was something he hadn’t felt in quite some time, he’d give the torturer that.  Swallowing with a little difficulty, the sniper noticed he was still settled upon the other’s face plate, and removed himself as quickly as possible.  A thin line of his fluid stretched out between the smaller mech’s mouth and his valve, observing in mild interest as that glossa eagerly captured the remnants of their interfacing and they disappeared within that cavity.

 

Carmine optics focused upon the other as Vos rolled onto his side, uttering a single word which caused Perceptor to sputter indignantly for a brief moment:

 

“T-tttaaa— **taaasttty**.”

 

_Well he certainly knew how to_ _ruin_ _a perfectly pleasant evening._


End file.
